


Lullaby Requiem

by Meshi_Kun



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU travelling, AUs, Adult Frisk, Bedtime Stories, Betrayals, Bondings, Dancing, Deaths and Resets, Drama, Eventual Smut, Experiments, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Human Lore, Ink, It Gets Worse, Ledgends, Lies, Lullabies, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Onesided Relationships - Freeform, Queerplatonic Relationships, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scapegoat Frisk, Shifting Sides, Singing, Slight Deviations from cannon, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soothe, Soul Shenanigans, The Red Thread of Fate, They/them pronouns used for Frisk, Unresolved Tension, human sacrifices, mellow, romantic relationships, super slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-01 08:16:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11482323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meshi_Kun/pseuds/Meshi_Kun
Summary: When the soft murmurs die,And the the dusk bids goodbye,Sleep, beloved.Let the angels envy your winsome faceAnd let the stars keep you safe.So sleep beloved,And sleep contentFor the night that we shareMay not come again.So sleep beloved,And sleep beside,For the souls we shareMay be one tonight.Frisk. Always used as a shield, as a vessel or just as a weapon. And this time, it was no different. Forced to glitch out by a group of Scientists, and configured to set forth as a sheild for the onesthey loved, they were sent; sent to the one person even the devils shuddered to seek. Sent to a mistake. An error. The Error.All Frisk was told was that they were meant to soothe the beast.That they could come back after He was asleep.But they were never told the fact that he never did.That He never slept.





	1. Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

> So. Yeah. All the AUs and the characters belong to their respective creators. I own nothing but the idea. Also, some ideas in this fic may differ from cannon. And this might get real dark ahead, so you're warned!
> 
> And, Frisk is a female but uses they/them pronouns. So yeah.
> 
> Enjoy the read, and do not forget to leave a comment, all of them are heartily appreciated! 
> 
> You might want to listen to 'Silent Night' by Mariah Carey (or any other version of it you like!) while reading, it will enhance the reading experience.

_Silent n-night, holy-y nig-night,_  
_All is calm, all is bright-t_

They wrapped their shivering arms around their frail body, staggering through the bottomless darkness of the AntiVoid. They were in pain, immense pain, but they still sang.

Even if their lips quivered, they _sang_.

Their voice weaved through the depths of the silence, interlacing its melancholy strain with the whispers of gales that did not exist. Their long, fluid dress trained after them, fading inexplicably into the darkness behind. With every step, their figure distorted and came back, like how an elongated spring rebounds. The pink bandaid on their nose glistened softly under the whites that dotted the pseudo-sky. Their blue skin blended with the surrounding perfectly, save the bright red and yellow orbs that seemed to stand out in the monochrome of the void like peculiarities of morbid fascination.

_Round yon v-virgin mother and child-d_  
_Holy infant so tender and mild-d_

Their taupe hair stilled against their gaunter cheeks and chapped lips, gently brushing against the pink tips of their ears as they floundered forth. Their breathy voice pinched the Antivoid as they neared the high notes of the song; puffing up their chest a little they exhaled, a string of mellow strain left their lips. 

_Sleep in heavenly peace._  
_Sleep in heavenly peace._

Their nose greyed from the sheer burden they subject their lungs to, and their lips quivered under the soft sheen of saliva that seemed to trail down to their collarbones, and thread in mid air. Tugging at the sleeve of their green dress, they wiped their mouth and sang. _Yet again._

_Silent night, holy-y night-t,_  
_Shepherds quake at the sight-t_

Their lips upturned in a distasteful frown, yet they did not stop singing. They had remembered, a rich baritone singing them to sleep. And it had been the exact same lullaby. They had never learnt it, yet, now when they parted their lips, all they could recite was that one tone. It was as if the tone ran through their blood, as if the song held a meaning beyond what they could perceive.

And they sang that song, that tone with all they speckles of glitching determination they had left. They poured their heart into every verse, their life force into every word and their strength into recovering the shards of memories that lay scattered in their mind.

And then a memory blossomed, so tender and fragile. They knew somewhere inside that they had once cherished the memory, had replayed it in their head in adverse times or times when they felt blue. And instantly, a splash of blue and soft hues of yellow took over their mind, floating about and swirling in such beautiful yet dangerous patters across their mind-scape. They were utterly mesmerised by the recollection. But soon that memory receded into darkness, letting way for a new recollection.

They remembered his ivory face, the streams of black that beautifully trailed down his cheeks and the majestic cape that shrouded his tall frame. They remembered holding his hands and skipping through a field flourished with flowers as golden as the fresh rays of sun. He had smiled at them, letting his usually graceful form be dragged around the moist field.

Was he their _guardian_?

They did not know. All they knew was they had spent ample time with him, be it watching him amble through metal corridors of his Laboratory or snuggling close to him on scary nights.

But now, all was lost. They had woken up into oblivion. Nothingness. They were ripped out of existence…all they were was just a glitch, an error in the game. A game they had held so close to their life, and yet all they could recall about it was the white snow. They glanced at their dress, continuous strings of ‘Error’ striped the cloth in a dirty yellow. Their eyes trailed down to the hem and then to their deep blue feet. They wriggled their toes, relived to know they still had life left inside. Something _right_ left inside.

But why them? Just because they were older or because…

A loud screech left their lips as their form crumbled to the ground. A flurry of memories invaded their senses, making them wheeze and desperately grapple at the vacuum.

And then they _saw_.

A hand outstretched for them to shake, a warm yet solemn grin dictated the face of their greeter. They had shook it, and had laughed, heartily; why? They did not know the answer to. His face, like dusting fog, had cleared up in their head. Littlest of details slowly amalgamated to form the face of someone they could never have forgotten. The face of their best friend.

“Sans…” they breathed, touching their lips in awe. The word felt foreign to their larynx but all the same, felt so familiar to their soul. So they repeated. Revelling in the only familiarity they could conjure at that moment.

“Sans!” They exclaimed, their voice steadying into an intimate whisper. Their heart warmed at the thought of finally seeing someone, remembering someone they held dear.

“Sans! Sans! Where are you?” They called out again, quickening their pace to unstable totters. Memories fizzled into their brain in short bursts, filling them up with an energy they had not thought they could possess.

“Sans! Help-p!”

They called out.

_But no one came._

And then the dress seemed like a bother, making them trip ever so often as they observed the area as far as their vision held good, wishing to spot some -no- _any_ kind of life. With a swift movement, they tugged at the lower hem of their dress, tearing it such that its remnants lapped against their lower thighs. Throwing the glitching piece of cloth away, they continued their search.

They were scared and then they were cold. And then, the idea of tearing away the only decent piece of clothing on their body seemed to be an awful directorial at their part. But they did not care, not as much. They were too busy tugging at the remains of their reminiscences. They remembered the nice things, the moments and then they longed for them. They longed for the warmth of the sun on their face, the cold of the melting snow under their feet and the lukewarm rain on their shoulders. But they could have none. So, they settled for less. They always had. All they wanted then was a shelter, a friend and their memories.

And then they spotted the light. A soft glimmer. And they ran. They ran as fast as their shivering legs would carry them. Their heart pumped violently against their chest and their pulse raced as the glimmer closed towards them.

‘Sans…it could be Sans!’ They thought, a soft heat radiated through their whole body. The possibility held so much potential; if they found him, they were sure he would help them out. He would know what to do then, he would take them both away and back to their own world. He would make _them_ right. He always made things right.

And soon they found themselves humming the same song they had sang. The words were mere whispers then, whispers shrouded in equal parts of delight and apprehension.

The bright light of the glimmer strengthened, almost blinding them as they sauntered forward. Their hands searched around for anything tangible, anything that they could hold and could feel. A few moments passed with their attempts to find something to hold on to. Feeling more accustomed to the brightness till then, they slowly flickered their eyes open, only to be greeted by florescent shades of greens, blues and reds.

_Glories stream from heaven afar  
Heavenly hosts sing alleluia_

And they could not stop. They sang, yet again. However, this time, their voice did not quake or tremble. This time, it held strong, still yet melodious. They sang and they walked, looking over at the deep blue strings that held entangled masses of colour. Some chapped and some broken. They knew what they were. Souls. And it scared them as to why they were there, in such state moreover.

They were terrified but they did not stop singing, their voice cracked but they still sang. Their throat felt as if it would break under the pressure and their lungs threatened to burst.

_Now the saviour’s born_

Footsteps deliberately pattered behind them, giving them time to acknowledge _their_ presence and vanish to wherever they had come from. But they still sang. And could not stop. Their lips moved on their own, pulling the notes up to prepare for the drop.

Their stomach clenched as blue tendrils wrapped around them.

_Now the saviour’s born_

They choked but did not stop singing. The tendrils creeped up to their arms and dragged them to the source, turning them around in the process.

“Sans?” They questioned after being brought closer to their captor, a long pause of silence followed. Seeking to make good use of the uncomfortable silence that loomed over them, they looked at him and took in the slightest of details. He was different. Those dark colours…that ‘error’ across his face and those blue lines…were they tears? Had he been crying? Lamenting? They wanted to ask, but the sharp tightening around their neck halted them.

_**“who are you? what are you doing here…?”  
** _

_And now the saviour’s born._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Ended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Frisk almost loses the most important thing to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you like this one! As always, thanks to all those who left a kudos! Do leave a comment if you feel inclined to.

 The tendrils constricted their midriff, and some settled around their neck, squeezing the only breaths they had left out of them. Their sore lips trembled from the affliction and their heavy lidded eyes watered. But they did not utter a single whimper.

“I-I…” They choked, forcefully restraining their fists to the sides and shifting painfully to their toes, “S-Sans…”

 _Sans_ just looked at them. His gaze was evaluative and ran down the whole of their shaking figure with tormenting sluggishness. His dark eye sockets sparkled with joy whenever he tightened the tendrils’ grip on them, making them convulse, mewl, cough and gasp like a moribund road-kill. He had liked that. Liked watching them squirm in the grasp of his strings.

Bile rose up their constricted throat as he tugged at the strings wound around their frail neck. The indigo from their face drained out and the pain flushed in, a tendril slithered down their thighs and wrapped around their ankles, _gently_ this time. They looked at him, their bulging orbs adored with pure terror. They expected to meet an irate scowl or at least a vexed frown but there was none. Not a trace of anger reflected on the bigger skeleton’s face, only joy; a sort of juvenile elation.

“well. ya don’t want to tell me why you’re here and _how_ you’re here.” He questioned, but to them, it was a plain statement that bore a horrendous foreboding of death, “but that’s okay.” He chuckled, shifting all of his weight on his other boney leg.

The iron-hold of the tendrils on their stomach loosed a shade, letting them enough room to breathe but not enough to escape. The ones on their neck slacked and bundled over on their grayed collarbones. Finally! They could talk to Sans! Reason with him and ask for his aid.

“Sans I-“

But he interrupted.

“you’re here. that’s okay, anomaly.”  He spoke, his voice was soft and languid but his head was bowed and the familiar pinpricks of light in his sockets had vanished. His phalanges twitched and a smirk played along his dark maw.

“S-Sans…” Fear crept up their spine, spiraling its way into their head guised as a dull headache. Why was he doing that? Did he not remember them? Their times together at…what was it? They remembered a comfortable, warm place in midst of a snowfell locality. It was bright and orange and warm, oh _so warm_. It had reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke, but they had not mind, they liked spending time there. They _loved_ spending time there. They had even frequented the place with Sans, yet, they could not remember. And it _pained_. Not remembering. Maybe Sans did not remember either…Maybe he did not remember _them_...

And it _hurt_.

“and that’s okay, anomaly. that’s okay.” His voice was barely above a whisper, it swept through the silence of the Antivoid with such fluidity but through their mind with such gravel. It grazed against the soft tissues of their sanity and made them quail in fear.

The tendrils tightened around their body, digging into their skin. Horror painted their face as he spoke his last words.

 ** _“I’ll send you back home.”_**  

All they heard next was a sickening snap and their vision went black.

* * *

 

“hn. they died, huh?”

“B-But! T-They…it has just been a-an h-hour since we…uh…sent them there! Isn’t that too early!”

“It is too early indeed, Alphys. The _other_ Sans is more hostile than we thought he would be. He does not seem to recognize Frisk.”

It _pained._

And it _hurt._

“even if he does, he ain’t gonna let an anomaly roam around like that. at least i wouldn’t have. we need to think of somethin’ else.”

“B-But what?!...D-Doctor…?”

It hurt _so much_.

Their neck throbbed with hammering pain, and their hands felt stiff, as if bound down with clasps and frozen. It hurt _everywhere_. They could hear voices; voices they recognized so well but could not seem to assign them to their forgotten memories of people. It was all a mess, their memories. And it _hurt_. It _hurt_ to not remember.

It _hurt so much_.

They could, however, recall a few bits of them every now and then, they remembered a few people, and they could recall traces of their times with people they did not recognize. Like the time when a very kind-hearted woman gave them pie, or when a tall skeleton hung out with them. And they took pleasure in it. They reveled in the moments that they could recall.

 After all, that is what they had left of themselves.

 Those memories were their _salvation_.

“Ah…maybe we should give the child a change of clothes. Something more familiar ought to spark some recognition for them.”

“i’ll see if i can get my frisk to lend them some clothes but i dunno if they would fit.”

_“We will have to do with what we can get. We have to be quick also. We cannot risk Error finding us again.”_

“Y-Yes, _Doctor_! I-I’ll reprogram them-m to only remember Sans and the _command_.”  


The voices had gotten louder, clearer. Their eyes stung, but they opened them nevertheless. Bright lights blurred their vision, the intensity should have made them tear up, but it did not. Maybe their eyes were familiar enough with brightness as intense or maybe, they had just lost the ability to summon tears. If they were awake, they would have leaned over to the latter. They had cried enough; enough over things they could not even recollect.

They did not attempt to clear up their hazy vision, for they _feared_ ; feared that if they did open their eyes, they would not be back _home_. They missed home - _even though they could not quite remember it_. They missed their furry duvets – _if there were any where they lived_ \- and the _familiar_ warmth of the bouncy matters that they, _perhaps_ , had slept in. They had not tried grasping at the broken threads of reminiscences, at least not anymore. They knew better; better than to fix something that was never broken. And that is what their memories had been- _nothing_.

And so, they settled to start anew, to start fabricating instances that **_never even existed_.**

_After all, what is an individual without their memories?_

If they could not remember, they might as well concoct.

The saturated air weighed upon their fatigued body like a hundred ton iron block, pressing their body against the frigid metals of the berth they lay so unceremoniously on. Smells of varying potencies wafted up their nose, some pungent while some moldy, making their deep violet nose scrunch. _Chemicals_ -their semi-conscious mind conjured.

“that’s alright and all, but i think they are wakin’ up.” 

A stout figure loomed casually over them.

“Wonderful. Alphys, inject.”

Another figure towered over them, blocking the light that fell on their unresponsive face. This figure was darker, taller and certainly more intimidating. Their distorted vision trailed after the figure’s elegant cape that ruffled against its sturdy frame. The figure held an air of authority about it- a decorous dominion. It must have been held in high esteem. 

“B-But Doctor…it could d-damage their vocal c-chords...”

_“It does not matter. Do it.”_

Snuffled background voices broke the occasional hum of supposed machinery. The dark figure had closed the distance between them, its obscure face furnished slowly.

“Frisk.”

The figure spoke. A male, it must have been. And it was so very familiar. They had known the voice in their past, and they were certain of it. More certain than they had been of their sanity.

 A tepid yet jagged palm scaled the lengths of their feverish forehead –of the shadowy figure, presumably-, snapping them out of their subconscious speculation. The gesture was gentle and affectionate; much like a mother’s pat on the head, but it still made them flinch. The novelty had not quite settled in their head as solace.

“You cannot lose hope yet.”

The rustic baritone greeted their ears like a beautiful song.

“Our fate rests upon you!”

A beautiful song that had been sung to them time and time again.

“Frisk.”

And then it struck them. It was their _guardian_!

_**“S t a y  D e t e r m i n e d !”** _

The sharp prickles of needle injections and the burning wave of distress washed away all their attempts to remember.

_Y e t  a g a i n._

* * *

 

Cold winds slapped against their bare thighs, resulting in an eruption of goosebumps all over their indigo skin. The scanty pullover barely fell against their lower ribs, exposing the sensitive skin on their waist to the merciless winds in the Antivoid. Their short ebbed away on their hipbones, clutching to their thighs uncomfortably.

Whomever those clothes belonged to, was surely younger than they were. Maybe a few years or so, they would have reckoned if they were not weeping.

Tears streaked down their grayed cheeks, their cries were soft bellows of misery, frequented by redundant pauses that allowed them a wheeze of breath. They were crying - _wailing even_ \- but in _silence_. Their pained larynx had reached the apex of its practice and had _burned_ ; burned like an untamed fire. Softly cupping their cricoids, they whimpered, attempting to voice their pains. But only etiolated mewls came out.

_Their memories…their voice…_

Desperate to listen to even the quietest wisps of their voice, they began. Their chest pained when they readied themselves for the chorus, and their torso rose from the ground in perturbation, their sore knees grinding against the cold ground. Their heart hammered in their chest. _What if they failed?_ No. they would not fail. They would _never_ fail. Their clenched fists found their way to their bosom as they began.

A broken note left their wet lips, polluting the silence of the Antivoid.

They _could not_ sing anymore. And it _hurt_ so much.

Everything they knew was snatched away from them with such relent. Their body slumped to the ground, tears fell and more agonizing screams echoed through the void. Grinding their teeth, they pounded their fists against the ground, grizzling in indignation.

_Why them?_

“H-Human? _F-Frisk_?”

Their eyes, smothered with fatigue, barely looked up to the owner of the voice. The speaker was short, stout and was draped in an amicable blend of bright blues and whites. His eyes – _or eye sockets-_ were dotted with a small fuzzy white pinprick of light, it would have been borderline bizarre if Frisk had not known a similar creature in the past- _Sans_.

Their heterchromic eyes welled up with unshed tears, pushing their heavy body up, they stumbled towards the tubby skeleton. Their arm weakly outstretched towards him, wanting to hold him close; wanting to acquaint with his warmth. Tears spilled and their pace to the skeleton quickened.

“ _S-San-s-s”_ They strained, barely letting out a short and abrupt stream of broken vocals.

The skeleton’s plastered smile faltered and his confident bearing slacked as Frisk closed the distance between them. His stance was withdrawn, as if he were _scared_. And his eye-lights flickered through a chimera of negatives- _dread_ , _pain_ and _horror._

 Frisk slowed down, their shivering palms gripping the hem of their pullover in uncertainty.

“D-Don’t come near…” He backtracked, stumbling and fumbling as he did, “O-Or…I’ll…I’ll…” He trailed away, his voice hauling sheer fright. He was _scared_ of them.

“S-Sans…I-I...” fresh hot tears prickled their eyes, their wounded larynx wrenched, “I-I…I-I w-won-n’t hu-rt you-u…I-I promis-e” they tried; anguish reflecting off every word they croaked out.

“F-Frisk… _really-y_ …?” He halted, and then shook his head dismissively. The person that stood before him had hurt _so many_ monsters, so many that he could not even tally. They were _evil_ ; the _Demon in Disguise_ ; _the Hell’s Messeng_ er. Why should he just excuse them based on a petty, innocuous little apology? How could he even know that they were repenting; that they were truly sorry for what they did to his kin?

He did not want to look them in the eyes; neither did he want to know why they were there. He just wanted to go back, go back and pretend that he never saw them. But he did; he did look them in the eye and did assess their sincerity.

“P-Please…”

He could not help himself. Their voice dripped of pain and suffering. Maybe, they were not _his_ Frisk after all, just some scared Human that had lost their way. And he felt horrible; horrible for treating them like an _enemy_. They were not deserving of his rejection, at least they seemed as such. His phalanges twitched as he took a tentative step forward. The feeling of uncertainty still blossomed in the corners of his mind but, he brushed it off, even if they were his Frisk, he could not be mad for long, he was not one to hold grudges at lengths.

His grin widened, mandible slackened and tense shoulders relaxed, “now that you have made that promise, I, the Great Sans, will elect to offer you my friendship!” He cheered, a heavy load washing away from his soul.  

A soft grunt of gratitude left their lips, along with the flurry of uncontrollable tears.

“Human! You should not cry so much or you will rupture your tear ducts!” innocent concern flashed over the short skeleton’s face.

Frisk sniffled, nodding and pulling the sweater over their scrawny frame as a distraction from the pain that seared through their throat. They were glad that finally they were being shown some _real, tangible mercy._ Something their soul so desperately craved, maybe their body too. The Antivoid was cold, colder than they would have imagined it to be. Their shivering thighs were pressed together to utilize what little warmth they could summon, and just that was not enough for them to keep their body up and functioning.

The short skeleton must have noticed their plight, for he scrambled hurriedly towards them, tiptoed and draped _their_ soft scarf around their neck. Frisk cleared only a few inches over the short skeleton, but still bent a little for _them_ to wrap them in the silky scarf.

A soft smile spread on their face, their fingertips running along the ends of the warm scarf. For a fabric wound around the neck of a literal _skeleton_ , the scarf was quite warm and Frisk was infinitely glad for that. But it was wrong; they could not keep the scarf to themselves for long. No matter how much they wanted to hold it close and curl into the soft, oddly familiar warmth, they had to give it up. Clutching the ends of the scarf, they unwrapped it gently from their neck and handed it to its rightful owner, shaking their head to express their refusal.

Sans shook his head.

“Do not worry, Human! I have a collection of similar scarves back at home! You may keep this one!” He beamed, patting Frisk’s sore shoulders after successfully turning their neck into a malnourished burrito.

Frisk simpered at him in appreciation, gently tugging the scarf to sheath their grayed nose and sodden cheeks. The warmth of the silken cloth engulfed them entirely, a wave of comfort washed over them making them instinctively snuggle into the glossy fabric. They squealed in delight from the sheen of warmth that seemed to form around their wounded soul, their heterochromes sparkled as they pulled the shorter skeleton into a friendly hug.

Sans shivered violently as his body made contact with theirs. They were so _cold_. Too cold for a human. It was true, Sans had not seen many humans in his course of life, but he surely knew no living creature, let alone a _human_ , should be freezing like that. His arms encircled their petit frame carefully, feeling all of their bones against his; they should not have been this thin either.  

He let his bubbling cyan magic expand a little, letting the soft laps of warmth reach Frisk’s soul, wanting to warm the human to the best of his abilities. He could not bear the sight of their weak, cold and shivering body any more.

They seemed to have allowed his magic to reach their soul and they seemed to have liked it too, for their soul resonated with his magic, thrumming softly in tune with his. The blue glow swallowed up both of the beings, its warmth pulsating ever so softly around them.  

Frisk sighed; their soul was overwhelmed by light magic that flowed through it. They could feel the warmth of it gracing every nook and corner of their cold, broken body. Small wisps of the blue magic grazed against their trembling soul, washing them over in a wave of warmth. The magic swooned around them, glittering like liquid stardust, a few flakes of glitter even settled on their shoulders, popping into inexistence when they touched it. They giggled, making the shorter skeleton smile faintly. Finally, they felt at peace. Finally, they felt everything would be all right.

 _Finally_ , they felt like they were _home_.


	3. the dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wherein letters are written, but not delivered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, if you liked it, hit the Kudos button and don't forget to comment! It seriously makes my day! Also, if you want to wanna chat, hit me up at [ right here.](https://derivativeofx.tumblr.com/)

_~~Let’s be friends.~~ _

_No, that is not quite right._

_~~Please don’t kill me. I mean no harm.~~ _

_…not there yet._

_~~I just want help, please; be kind.~~ _

_Not this either._

_~~Help, please?~~ _

They gritted their teeth in annoyance, their nostrils flared and their lips eventually puckered up into an indignant pout. Why was writing so ridiculously hard; they had wondered many a boring literature report writings –not as if they could recall, but if they were able to, it would probably be that-. Writing never overly appealed to them, but literature did. Stories, poems, legends, mythology-all had a profound impact on their early childhood. They could never recall having parents; only orphanage workers were their transient warmth of guardianship. And the orphanage workers always had a fable to tell or better yet, a poem to recite. Frisk had been an active part of many recitals themselves, and was praised for their melodious singing voice; _A dream ride to heaven_ -was what one of the coordinators of the orphanage titled their voice during one of their cherished recitals of A Tisket, A Tasket.

It was funny how these seemingly inconsequential memories surfaced up now, leaving behind a trial of bitter sweetness in their wake. Bitterness of the times lost, and sweetness of the realization that they had not been robbed of off all their memories. Perhaps, if they forced their mind to function, for the rusty cogs to turn, they could at least churn out a few fragments of their lost past.

But that would have to wait. For now, they had a more important task to attend to.

After scrawling a string of words onto the ivory sheet of paper, they pulled back, squinting their eyes to look for any bugging errors in those three words. If they were going to write anything, it would have to be the absolute best. Especially if it were a letter they were writing. The indentation, the font and the grammar had to be of paramount status; at least this is what they were taught at the orphanage. Verse held supreme power if exploited in the right manner. But they were more of an ‘Actions speak louder than words’ sort of person; they so wished they were not at the moment, the motto only made heartfelt letters painstakingly difficult to word.

A pleased smile dominated their face as their judgment of the three-lettered and one-syllabled phrase came to a satisfactory end. They quickly snatched the paper up into the air and proudly pressed it against their chest, intent on showing the short skeleton a glimpse of their masterpiece.

Sans tilted his head at the impulsive action, his eye-sockets duly making their way to the sloppy writing on the sheet marred with numerous strikethroughs.

“I c-a-n h-e-l-p y-o-u.” The stout skeleton spoke, akin to a toddler reading out the first page of their favorite storybook. His inexistent boney brows corrugated in deep thought. Frisk would have sworn that his head tilted an uncanny sixty degrees due north, but Frisk never swore and skeletal anatomy was something they did not want to get down and dirty with. Much like political sciences and economics, biology was never their forte.

“With what, precisely?” The skeleton spoke out after a long pregnant pause and some attentive consideration to not spew anything hurtful. His phalanges subconsciously feeling around for the missing scarf as he shuffled his feet in slight bother, “He does not fancy guests, human. Human guests especially so.” He added, his mandible going taut in an emotion Frisk could not well decipher. Worry was their lucky guess.

They nodded their head in understanding, and recognition of the fact that there was nothing they could do to help Him. Nothing in their immediate power, of course.

“I-I don’t-t…’ They paused to clear their throat, wincing at the pain that lashed about as they did so, “…k-know w-what…e-else to write…’ They completed in a defeated stutter, their warm palms cupping their neck in attempts to soothe the throbbing veins there as they hung their head in submission to the current predicament.

They felt irresolution numb their body. There was nothing they could possibly do. Error, as _blue_ Sans called him, would exterminate them on sight. And the thought did not seem pleasant in the least. The fact that their chances of ever finding a way out of the Antivoid were slim to none, filled them with a crippling vacillation.

They wanted to just give up.

_You have to contain Him. You have to soothe Him. You have to keep Him away from Us._

_No matter what it takes. No matter what you have to lose. You have to save Us._

_Our fate rests upon you._

_Frisk!_

**_S T A Y  D E T E R M I N E D!_ **

Sans sighed, his eye-sockets shutting. Frankly, he had no idea as to what they could do to avoid Error’s brutal _hospitality._ After all, he could not go up to him and ask him whether the lonely human could reside with them. The same would only yield two results-a furious Error and a broken soul. And Sans desired neither. All he wished dearly was the human, Frisk, to be safe and Error to be content. Both of which seemed a far cry to the events that would actually happen if he let the two rendezvous.

A soft scratching noise snapped the stout skeleton out of his mini reverie, attracting his attention to the source.

Frisk’s ivory knuckles gripped the cool metal of the ink pen, jotting it across a white sheet of paper with such indemnity. Their knees were bent and pressed against the cool floor, feet carefully tucked beneath their bottoms and back hunched forward with elbows acting like supports as they kept on with their writing. A bright and novel shine sparkled in their heavily lidded eyes; a fresh grit overpowered their movements. After so long, they were finally _filled with **DETERMINATION**_.

The air clicked with a familiar sound of pure resolution.

* * *

 

A soft laugh escaped his lips as he reclined in his squeaky office chair, “So they finally saved, huh?”

“guess their SAVE-ing power transcends voids even, boss.” A groggy voice interrupted, heavy footsteps pattering along the metal floor of the dark corridors tot the True Lab.

“Ah, Sans. What brings you here?”

“Funny you would ask, gaster-err- i mean boss.” Sans shrugged his bony shoulders, shoving his gloved carpals deep into the pockets of his cozy jacket, “after all, you had us toiling all day out in here.” He growled lowly, the pinpricks of light in his eye-sockets long extinguished.

“I was no exception myself, Sans.” Gaster replied curtly, turning to face the blue skeleton. His fused metacarpals clicked against the desk as he pushed the cup of coffee further away on the metal-top, he would not want to knock it over himself in any case, “I worked just as hard; just as hard for _us_.”

Sans did not fail to notice the stressed ‘us’, but he waited for the Royal scientist to complete.

“It had to be done, Sans. Do not fret over them. Think of it as their…long deserved punishment.” The older skeleton breathed, his cape fluttering behind him as he rose to take his well-earned break from monitoring.

“ _Since when did you become the Punisher_?”

A sizzling zap and the short skeleton stood just before the Doctor, his eyes ablaze a deep yellow.

The older man lost not a shade of his composure, “I apologize. I should not have acclaimed your role as one of my own, friend. I surely did not intend to do that.” His mouth twisted in a smug smirk.

Sans chuckled bitterly, the glow of his eyes receding to pitch darkness, “Go burn in hell, G.”

“I am afraid I cannot.” Gaster’s phalanges stroked his smooth chin, “It is not in my power.” His hollow eyes wandered to the seething skeleton’s, “But the power to protect us is. And I shall use it to its fullest potential.” He completed, a harsh undertone laced his speech.

“by sending the human to that…that abomination? By pushing them to the point of no return?” Sans gurgled, his phalanges gripping the smooth insides of his jacket.

“If it does come to that…then, yes.”

Sans’ shoulders slackened, the fuzz of light in his eye sockets fading back into existence, “if that is how it is. imma go and tell tori and asgore about all of this.” He turned around, “don’t expect me around anymore doctor.”

He should have expected it from his prodigal ally. Defiance, he had foresaw; dalliance, he had prepared counter measures against; but dereliction? He had never even fathomed. His carpals tightened into fists and his shoulders stiffened, “You will regret it.” He muttered under his breath.

“i already am.”

* * *

 

“That is a nice song.” _Blue_ Sans smiled, his phalanges interwoven and charily gathered behind his armored back as he and his human companion ambled through the white void.

_A Tisket, a Tasket_

Frisk hummed merrily, their hands gently curled against their chest, nestling the letter close to their softly thrumming soul. Their cheeks were graced with a soft shade of grey that swept upwards along their cheekbones, their dull brown hair were bestowed with a soft sheen of glitter and their ivory skin radiated of joy. Even their throat did not ache as much; they could hum with ease now that the pain had taken a backseat. All of their recovery was chalked up to their exposure to Sans’ healing magic by the duo.

“Do not end up straining yourself however, human!” two energized pinpricks of light shot their way, “We do not want you to strain your throat much!” Sans insisted, accelerating his pace to match the gay gallops of their human partner.

_A Tisket, a Tasket_

_A green and yellow basket_

Frisk hummed louder, inhaling and exhaling slowly so as to not stress their vocal chords. Their monochromes gleamed and their face flushed a dark grey as they passed a reassuring grin to the short blue skeleton, who just smiled in return, a slight wistfulness lingered in his motions.

“We should be getting there soon, to Error’s little nest.” Sans allowed himself a hearty giggle, earning another similar one from his travel companion. Despite the ugly foreboding riding on his spine, he walked forward, a pleasant smile stretched across his white mandible.

He already knew what Error’s response to this unsolicited guest would be-violence. It was a miracle that he had agreed to share his holy adobe with the blue skeleton as it is, there was no saying he would allow another soul to be hauled under his ‘care’.

However, Sans had to admit that Error had been a good host for the most part; he had not ever meddled in his affairs and had kept his distance. However, he did entertain a good, curt conversation about other dimensions and would oft let the smaller skeleton have a peek of the other universes.

Even though Error was a decent and surprisingly lenient Antivoid-mate to the blue skeleton, the latter had no right to bring another tenant to the already crowded –or so Error reminded often- Antivoid.

Maybe he would allow Frisk if they played their cards right.

Sans cocked his empty sockets at the human beside. Their gentle steps and innocent visage dripped of purity. They were so unlike all of the Frisks Sans had seen in the other universes and his own; this Frisk was nice; they were kind and had not a trace of dust coating their hands or darkness tinting their soul. This Frisk was determined; determined to just; determined to be brave; determined to be patient; determined to be kind; determined to be true; determined to be firm.

_But above all, they were **DETERMINED** to be **MERCIFUL**._

Sans let his eye-sockets shut for a while.

_Maybe this time they would not have to perish at his hands._

Frisk, unaware of their partner’s trance, clenched the letter tightly. Their soul throbbed with equal parts of apprehension and excitement. They were positive that their letter would make the otherwise grumpy skeleton –or what they had thought of him at first- smile.  He may even help them out! They were fully aware that the ‘ _Error’_ Sans was in no way their Sans, but that did not imply that they should just give up on him. The realization only made them try harder, perseverance cored through their glitching form.

Finally, things would be right.

They hummed again, picking up from the verse they left.

_A Tisket, a Tasket_

_A green and yellow basket_

They picked their chin up, gazing long into the whiteness of the Antivoid, their eyes set on a small glitter of dark blue. The deep indigo in the ivory of the Void seemed like splotch of ink on a blank white canvas. The pinprick of color darkened as they moved forward.

_They could see their destination!_

And they hummed louder, sheer glee reflecting in their voice with such clarity.

_I wrote a letter to my love_

_But what they could not see were the blue tendrils headed their way._

_And on the way I dropped it_

Slithery tendrils wrapped around their neck, electing a sharp gasp. Their hands trembled, the letter crashing tersely to the seemingly bottomless floor. Their skin paled and lips quivered.

_But they could not stop humming._

_I dropped it, I dropped it_

**_“I told you to never come back, did not I, brat?”_ **

_That horrid voice._

“ERROR! NO!”

The strings dug into their supple indigo skin, rendering grotesque scars on their frail neck. Their throat singed with pain.

_But they did not stop humming._

_And on the way I dropped it_

“Error, no…Why…?”

The last thing they saw was the pensive face of their skeleton partner picking up the ivory letter gingerly from the floor and reading it.

_A little boy he picked it up_

**_I remember you, Sans._ **

_And put it in his pocket_

_A Tisket, a Tasket_

**_I remember._ **

_A green and-d yellow-w basket…_

**_I did not forget._ **

_I w-wrote a letter to my-y love_

_And on the way I d-drop-ped it._

**_Do you remember me?_ **


	4. Peeking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Humans are _kept_.

Sweat dripped down his white mandible, trickling down into the depths of his battle armour. A thick, velvety curtain of bright blue magic heaved over his stout form as he gently pressed his gloved phalanges over the unconscious Human, being careful to not thumb his bony contours too hard against their supple flesh.

He had frankly lost all sense of time since when he saw the Human collapse; when he saw their limp body connect to the ground with such an awfully sickening crunch that it made him sick to his inexistent stomach; manifested magic bile threatened to spill as his magical aura spiked to a dangerous measure.

The memory of the event was as fresh as the morning dew in the short skeleton's mind. He remembered Frisk's emotionless face, greyed from the loss of blood, lying cushioned on the cold ground of the void; their weak and hollow gaze staring at him brassily. Their body was no exception to the brutality, it was twisted in a raze of different positions, the limbs awkwardly angled outwards and the torso wrung over like wet cloth. All clear indications to either broken bones or dislocated joints.

_But they were not dead._

_Not yet._

Sans could feel the soft thrum of their soul; a weak pulsation so desperate to hang on to the living realm; so desperate to make things right. It was puzzling. The human was probably tumbling along on the thin wire of life and death, but their HP…it was high. _Considerably_ high. Too high for a creature battling life and death. It left him immensely befuddled. He was aware of the fact that he was not the brightest crayon in the box full of pastels, but he did have a fairly good idea about _HoPe_ , something he often took subtle - _or so he thought_ \- pride in.

 _HoPe_ was supposed to diminish when one took a hit, the rate at which heavily depended on the type of attack, but it was supposed to lessen nevertheless. But Frisk…their HP spiked violently when the tendrils asphyxiated them, later receding to a constant magnitude as their motions lessened.

However, despite their _HoPe_ , their body easily succumbed  to physical injuries— blood seeping from their mouth, a dirty grey colouring their swollen shoulders and deep red marks marring their indigo neck. Wounds but no HP loss? It seemed as impossible as it sounded.

Sans would have dwelled on the mystery longer if not for the fact that the Human was possibly losing themselves to the immense pain that Error so _gladly_ showered on them. He had to help the Human heal, after all, it was only that much he could do. And he knew, oh so well, that..

_...Error was not done with them yet._

_But Sans was not done with Error either._

Helping the human without _His_ ‘ _consent_ ’ would land him in deep trouble with Error, Sans was aware of so much. He had to think of another way to placate _Him._

And so, deeming it the most necessary - _and the only_ \- solution, he walked to the older skeleton and roughly chucked the crumpled letter at him - _something he had acquired a little earlier_ -, the former capturing the same using his tendrils with practiced ease.

Sans said nothing else, just glared at the taller frame, his eyes void of any emotion as his attention centred on the crumpled piece of paper.

He was angry. In fact, he was seething with pure rage. Frisk had deserved no part of _His_ sporadic rage spasms. They were so kind, so merciful, yet they had to meet the horrid fate; the crippling pain.

Sans genuinely wanted to take a hit at the taller skeleton, to give _Him_ a piece of his mind in hopes of _Him_ retaining _His_ own. But Error was stronger, so much so that it would not only risk his life but also the Human’s If he acted up on his desires. And he was in no mood for another reset; no mood for witnessing the creation of something that could - _and certainly would by Error, of course_ \- potentially be held against his Human friend.

Too absorbed in his reverie, he had failed to notice the violent shifting of dimensions, or the spike in Error’s energy. He did, however, feel the ground tremble, as if in fear of what was to come.

Sans’ rage was drowned out; extinguished by the sheer fright that then dominated his whole skeletal frame, making him quiver and rattle in horror as he watched Error manifest those bony monstrosities-his Gaster Blasters.

Magic crinkled inside their mouths, ready to pulverise all that stood in their way. Bloodied bones blipped into existence, their sharp points directed towards the shorter skeleton, threateningly swinging back and forth in the uncannily dense vacuum of the Antivoid.

_Would Error kill him?_

_Was this his end?_

Sans let his heavy lids fall; his mandible slacken and his _HoPe_ wither away. This was the end of him and the Human. He spared a last lethargic look at the motionless body on the ground.

It was funny how he would die with his only other friend. Maybe - _no, definitely-_ they would reset, come back, but that would change only so little. They would still have to face this same fate, no matter how many times they restarted. He knew he was no exception to Error's rage, and if given, the older skeleton would not even hesitate to dust him.

_As he was right now. Not hesitating._

He sighed one last time and then, he resigned; resigned into his rapidly approaching death. He did not brace for impact, intent on letting the bones pierce his soul through and through. And he did not need to either.

Because the impact never came.

He was only greeted by the empty serenity of the white void when he opened his eyes, the silence welcomed his ears with such un-assumption that it only made the recent encounter feel like a fleeting dream.

He whipped his skull around to look for Error, spotting Him only a few feet away.

_**“bring it along as well.”** _

* * *

Error growled. It had been around almost a full minute since he had been pacing around, just a little ways from his ‘ _office_ ’. He wanted to get away from that filthy human, miles and miles away, but his soul held him put. He had to make sure the Human recovered well if he were going to question them later about their stupid letter.

Sans sighed, gingerly brushing away all the sweat on his forehead as he leaned back, letting his arms hold his tired form up. His deep and the Human's shallow breaths broke the deathly silence.

_Frisk was stable. At least for the moment._

Sans looked at their face for long, gently brushing away the brown wisps of their hair to the side, carefully tucking them behind their flushed ears. Their somber face was washed with a light shade of indigo, hues of grey splashed against the contours of their cheeks, providing their face with a slight ethereal glow.

Dark blue magic coloured Sans’ cheeks, his heart fluttering softly in embarrassment as he acknowledged his shameless ogling. He was so enraptured by the Human that he had lost track of the movements of his hands and his wandering eye-sockets.

Letting his head cock to the side, he smiled, the stark blush on his ivory mandible darkening as he tried to pry his thoughts away from the human.

Error grunted in disgust, _**“you’re infatuated with that filth, aren’tcha ya idiot?”**_ He started with a tone laced with pure displeasure, his flimsy finger gesturing to the unconscious Frisk and his gaze training at the shorter skeleton with a slight condescension. And a lot of unvocalised hate.

Sans stiffened, _“NO! NO! IT IS NOT AS IT SEEEMS, THE HUMAN AND I ARE RELATED ON PLATONIC TERMS ONLY!"_ he allowed himself a liberal voice raise, the blush on his face darkening to an almost painful intensity as he flailed his arms around in denial.

Error held his gaze, intact with all the intense emotions of pure dislike he felt for the sickening emotions the shorter skeleton harboured for the dirty human, _**“yer face clearly disagrees.”**_

Sans let out an embarrassed moan, his gloved phalanges finding his face faster than an ant finding sugar. He buckled over slightly, _“I already told you it is not what you think it is.”_ His soft voice barely came over as a muffled whisper.

Error grunted. He could easily continue the horrible conversation, but he had better things to inquire about. The primary one being-

**_“how does that filth know me?”_ **

Sans visibly stiffened in his position.

 _“…don’t you know them?”_ the magic drained off of the small skeleton’s face, his maw slackening into the skeletal equivalent of a frown; he retained his position, however, his face still buried in his gloved phalanges.

_**“i don’t see why i should”** _

_“T-They’re Frisk, Error!”_ Sans found him self sputter, his gloved phalanges huddling up at his jaw once he finished, and face paling to an intense look of pure horror.

 _ **“frisk”**_ Error tried, his voice testing and tone cold. He took his time, as if savouring the feel of the foreign, yet so familiar name on his tongue; tasting the subtle flavours warped up meticulously in it; devouring every sense of familiarity he could salvage out of that one word; that one name.

Sans gazed long at the seemingly spaced out skeleton, his thoughts running wild through the plethora of violent outcomes that could be a result of his mindless blabber.

 _ **“that name doesn’t ring any bells”**_ Error spoke, his dark maw pulling back up into the signature wide grin which it had presently lost.

Sans breathed a sigh of relief, _“Uh…that is great!”_

Error cocked his empty sockets at him.

 _“I m-mean…that way you could get to know them! They are as great as I, the Great Sans, I assure you!”_ Blue covered up, barely concealing the nervous tremble in his voice. That was close, another mess up could easily cost his Human friend a limb, or even their soul.

On the reception of no reply, Sans continued, aiming to advertise the Human to the best of his abilities, _“They are really nice…and benovelent...they will make an amazing companion! Uh…”_

_Silence._

_“They also…uh…”_

_Silence._

_“They are also aware of a lot of stories!”_

He blurted out, once again, naturally not expecting a reply from the taller skeleton.

But, he did receive one.

**_“stories?”_ **

_“Yes! A lot of stories, songs and so…so much more!”_

_Such confident claims._

**_“songs?”_** Error spared a short glance at the unconscious human. Could that flimsily pile of flesh even speak, let alone sing? Error had his doubts.

 _“They have a magnificent voice even!”_ Sans strained a nervous smile, wiping away a bead of sweat from his forehead. No one knew better of the poor Human's vocal conditions than the blue skeleton, and yet here he was, boasting away, knowing full well that the Human could not even utter a single sentence without stuttering.

 _ **“if that’s the case…”**_ he paused, recalling the brief times when he heard the Human's voice. It was not half bad from what he could recollect, **_“…they’ll sing when they wake up.”_**

A few songs or stories would not do much bad. After all, the Antivoid was not very happening as it is and he was not feeling up to the task of batteling Sans and killing the Human. It was all too much for a day's work.

Error - _no matter how much he internally denies it-_  might even have a few reasons of his own to _keep_ the Human. Frankly, after all those agonisingly lonely years in the void, he had quite forgotten what songs sounded like. He had, however, heard the wisps of a few stanzas before, but that was it. Listening to a fully fledged song might be _nice—_ or so he conjured.

 _“O-Of course.”_ Sans forced another smile, a snort of unintended anxious laughter following suit.

_**“but if they aren’t as good. They’ll leave.”** _

_“Of course!”_ Sans wanted to laugh again; to guffaw his inexistent lungs out. He had successfully put his friend’s life on the line.

_‘Oh Frisk, what have I done.’_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Lemme know what you think in the comments section! Also, don't forget to leave them Kudos!
> 
> NOTE: I will probably not continue this anymore. Majorly because I don't have time to sit down and write some quality stuff. School has been pretty harsh on me (maths and physics specially) lately. And also, I haven't been feeling confident lately. 
> 
> I may update, may being the key word, once in a while if I feel like it. The updates may even span a few months, or may never come, I'm not sure.
> 
> So, I'm really sorry to all of those who enjoyed the story! It was lovely writing to you guys.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked it! Leave a comment if you feel inclined to.


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